In the Night She Came

    I told her when I left one day
    That whatsoever weight of care
    Might strain our love, Time’s mere assault
     Would work no changes there.
    And in the night she came to me,
     Toothless, and wan, and old,
    With leaden concaves round her eyes,
     And wrinkles manifold.

    I tremblingly exclaimed to her,
    “O wherefore do you ghost me thus!
    I have said that dull defacing Time
     Will bring no dreads to us.”
    “And is that true of YOU?” she cried
     In voice of troubled tune.
    I faltered: “Well . . . I did not think
     You would test me quite so soon!”

    She vanished with a curious smile,
    Which told me, plainlier than by word,
    That my staunch pledge could scarce beguile
     The fear she had averred.
    Her doubts then wrought their shape in me,
     And when next day I paid
    My due caress, we seemed to be
     Divided by some shade.